


Mutually Assured Destruction

by italics_of_uncertainty



Series: Phil's Story (In Chronological Order) [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Boners, Casual Sex, Clothed Sex, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 08:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5368649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/italics_of_uncertainty/pseuds/italics_of_uncertainty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Phil aren't exactly friends, and they aren't exactly lovers, and frankly, with Steve out of town, neither of them really care. Casual 'our mutual boyfriend is out of town so fuck it' sex.</p><p>You don't actually need to read the other stories in the series to enjoy this one, I've just got them set up that way so that if you want to, you can read them in the right order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutually Assured Destruction

Tony doesn’t even look up from his workbench when he hears the door to his workroom open, and he doesn’t really care who it is, though considering JARVIS only lets Pepper, Bruce, and Phil Coulson override his privacy commands, and the latter only on urgent business, he knows it’s probably fairly important. “That door was locked for a reason, you know.” 

He’s just finished welding up the frame for a prototype by hand, and he’s basking in that glow of satisfaction; he’s already spent an hour and a half on this project. JARVIS could have assembled it for him in about twenty minutes, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to admit the work isn’t going quite so smoothly as he’d expected. Anyway, he enjoys the heat of the torch and the burnt-metal tang that hangs in the air for hours after. He even enjoys the heavy feeling in his lungs from the argon when he’s been leaning too close for too long, the lightheaded buzz of oxygen deprivation, and he knows that’s stupid, but since when has he been known for being smart? A genius, sure, but not necessarily smart. Anyway, all he has to do is bend at the waist, take a few deep breaths; it clears his head in no time.

“Locked door!” Tony repeats, a little louder this time, still not looking up, “It means go away in every language known to mankind!” 

Phil isn’t phased; Tony’s a jerk when he’s working. Actually, Tony’s just a jerk, working or not, and it certainly isn’t something Phil’s going to get emotional about just because they’ve started fucking now and again. “I’ve got a file I need you to read by this evening. SHIELD needs your advice on…”

“Blah blah blah, whatever. Just leave it on the table and go away.” Tony says, setting down his torch and lifting his mask.

JARVIS turns the work-fan back on; the skin on Tony’s chest and forearms stings in the sudden cool air. If he’d known it was going to take this long, he might’ve actually put on a jacket, but he’s far too stubborn to admit defeat now. It’s just a sunburn, and another twenty minutes isn’t going to make that much difference anyway. Tony reaches for a precision-cut piece of stainless steel, clamps it into place against the frame — he makes a good show of ignoring Phil, but when after a good five minutes of fiddling the man is still standing there, radiating that same patient calm schoolteachers tend to get around screaming children, Tony finally gives in. 

“You’re an annoying son of a bitch, you know that?” he says as he hits the power switch on his torch, pulls off his gloves and mask, drops them on his workbench as he finally turns to look at Phil.

“I need to brief…” Phil stops dead in the middle of his sentence and suddenly gets that look on his face like his thoughts have come to a screeching halt, and Tony isn’t quite sure what he’s done to shut him up, but he’d like to know for future reference. The ability to stun Phil Coulson into silence would be exceptionally handy during meetings.

Phil raises his hand to his throat, and it takes Tony a second to realize, Phil isn’t actually touching his own throat, he’s mirroring the act for Tony… and that’s when Tony remembers he’s still wearing his diamonds. Damnit. 

Tony glares at him for a moment, “I feel pretty, alright?”

Phil blinks, and he looks like he’s thinking for a moment, but then he says, “Alright.” 

That man can accept just about anything and keep going. Tony is actually slightly relieved that Phil hasn’t just said something awful, isn’t giving him a lecture on how wearing jewelry in the shop is dangerous — he’s heard that spiel one too many times already — and maybe it’s because his day job involves occasionally being thrown out fortieth floor windows by angry gods, maybe it’s because he’s been building miracles out of scrap metal for decades now; for whatever reason, he just does not care that it’s dangerous, and he certainly doesn’t want to endure Shop Safety 101 again. There’s a reason Steve isn’t allowed to override his privacy commands anymore. 

“So,” Tony’s a little less exasperated now; the cool air is refreshing, and it feels good to stand up straight after bending over his prototype for so long, “what did you want to talk to me about?”

Phil sets the thick file down on Tony’s desk, taps it, “There’s a… Situation,” but he’s still staring at Tony’s necklace, looking like he’s almost transfixed by the way it catches and refracts the blue light from the arc reactor. 

Tony smirks, he knows the sparkle is eye-catching. Hell, if he were a woman, he’d never take the damned thing off. He traces the line of diamonds along his collarbone, “Mutually assured destruction, world-ending catastrophe in the making, etcetera, etcetera?” 

Phil nods, swallowing, and Tony realizes Phil is turned on; he steps a little closer, suddenly not minding the interruption at all. Steve has been gone for the last week and a half, off saving the world in guise of Captain America: Goodwill Ambassador, and Tony is fairly sure Phil has been missing him just as much as he has.

Tony glances over at the file on the desk; it probably won’t take more than an hour to go through, “I think I can manage on my own. How long did you schedule for that briefing?” 

“…half an hour,” Phil says, already loosening his tie, “I’ve got a meeting at four, but I can be a few minutes late.”

“Leave the suit on, Agent,” Tony says, giving him a wicked grin. 

Phil hesitates for a moment, looking at the grease and metal shavings on Tony’s arms, on his tank top. 

“Oh come on.” Tony says, “If you don’t already know that I’ll cover the dry-cleaning…” but Phil interrupts him, “It’s not that.” He glances over at Tony’s prototype, “Look, if anyone asks, something… Something caught fire, alright?”

Tony laughs, “Are we clear on the cover story, JARVIS?”

“At approximately 3:47PM there was an incident in the workroom, sir. No footage is available, as an electrical fault resulted in local data being lost. Agent Coulson was required to assist with damage control efforts.” 

“See?” Tony smirks, “JARVIS has even given us a little extra time. Now come here.” He grabs and drags him close, thinking maybe to lead him over to his workbench, but Phil grabs hold of Tony’s hips and shoves him back against the desk. “Ooh,” Tony says, “You are in a mood, aren’t you?”

Phil tangles his fingers in Tony’s hair and pulls slowly, dragging his head back so that he can lick the sweat from his jaw, teeth grazing against his throat as he growls, “I’ve been trying to save the world all day, and unlike you, I can’t just go blow shit up, I have to deal with bureaucracy, and people who don’t want to be saved because it might make them look bad; what sort of mood did you expect I’d be in?” 

Tony has to concede that point, but it’s the first indication he’s ever had that maybe Phil doesn’t delight in the red tape, that maybe he’s not quite so keen on paperwork as Tony had always assumed he must be, and he likes him just a little better for it. He presses in close, grinding their hips together and making sure to leave a thick smear of grease straight down Phil’s collar as he leans against him to kick his boots off, quickly unbuttoning his jeans, slipping out of his boxers and tossing them aside. 

Phil steps back and just looks at him then, taking in the creeping sunburn on his arms and neck, the tear in his shirt from where he snagged it on a sharp edge earlier. Phil is giving him the sort of look he only ever gives Steve; it’s almost entirely lust, but there’s a sort of fondness there around the edges that makes Tony uncomfortable. Tony sits back on the desk, hooking his leg around Phil’s knee for balance as he leans back and rummages in a toolkit, grabbing a tin of Stark Industries All-Purpose Lubricant. 

Phil looks like he might be about to say something clever, but Tony just laughs, “As if I wouldn’t.” He rolls his eyes, “Do you have any idea how often I cut, burnt, and otherwise grievously injured myself before I put together the manufacturing rig? Cleaning grease out of a wound fucking hurts, and, well, once I got that far, I figured I might as well finish the job.”

Phil laughs, and he’s almost blushing, “You’re incorrigible.” 

“I try,” Tony says, propping himself up on one elbow and tossing Phil the tin. Phil slips it in his jacket pocket, leans in and kisses him then, pushing him down, making him rest his weight against that file. Tony can feel the hard brads digging into his back, but he doesn’t mind, a little discomfort makes it easier to keep focused; otherwise he just gets lost in a maze of sensation, falls into licking and touching and stroking, and hours can pass before he’s even remotely keen to finish up. He shifts, letting the brads dig in through his shirt, wincing as one grazes against his rib, and wraps his legs around Phil’s waist. 

Phil leans down, pressing his weight against him, and Tony can feel how hard he is through his trousers, can tell he’s already aching. Tony reaches between them, fumbles with Phil’s belt buckle for a second, and then he’s unzipping Phil’s trousers, unfastening the button. Phil shudders as Tony slips his hand beneath the elastic of his boxers, shoves them down as best he can at this angle. Phil tightens his grip on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony lets his head rest against the desk, closing his eyes, rubbing his face against Phil’s hand. 

“I know what you want,” Phil almost whispers, “you wish he were here, watching…” 

Tony stifles a groan, and he can hear Phil pop the lid on the lubricant, can hear that slick sound as he dips his fingers in, and when Phil starts with two fingers, just shoving them in, straight to the knuckle, Tony’s whole body goes rigid, and he arches against it, shuddering, biting back a whimper. Oh, it hurts, but it hurts in a way that makes his cock ache. He feels himself trembling, feels his body struggling against it, fighting that intrusion before finally giving way.

Phil gives him the space of a heartbeat as that tension breaks, letting him relax as he breathes in deep, and it just makes that next hard thrust all the more excruciating, making him whine and writhe as Phil fingers him roughly, opening him far too fast, and from the sound of Phil’s voice, he loves every moment of it, loves taking him apart. 

“Think about it,” Phil leans close, breath hot against Tony’s throat, “watching you moan and whimper,” he twists his hand and Tony loses his breath for a second, “and then when you can hardly take it anymore,” he grabs Tony’s jaw with his free hand, pressing his thumb between his teeth, “instead of petting you, instead of soothing and kissing and stroking you, he would fuck that pretty mouth of yours while I have my way with you. His cock halfway down your throat,” Phil drags his thumb across Tony’s tongue, teeth, teasing, making him lick and strain to keep that touch, “choking on every thrust, helpless between us. Just something to be fucked, to be used,” Phil grabs his hair, jerks his head back until he arches up from the desk, “and you would love it.” Tony moans, and he can almost taste it.

Phil slides his fingers out, leaving him panting and desperate, takes hold of Tony’s hip, leaving slick of warm grease across his skin, all Tony can think about is having that slick on his cock, that rough hand stroking him. Phil doesn’t give him long to think about it as he lines himself up, and before he can even register that anticipation, that longing to be filled again, Phil pushes in deep, slow and hard. Tony can hardly breathe, one long ragged gasp through clenched teeth.

“All you can do is take it,” Phil says, holding him there, tightening his grip on his hip until it almost hurts, pulling at his hair, keeping him pinned in place, shivering, strung taut as a wire, “Is this what you want?” 

Tony shudders, arching against it, scrabbling to grab the edge of the desk, anything for a little more leverage, to feel Phil a little deeper. His cock is so hard it’s driving him mad, and then Phil bucks his hips so hard the desk almost moves; the sheaf of neatly organized papers spills across the floor, and Tony moans. Phil lets go of Tony’s hair, and Tony falls back against the desk in a sprawl, wincing as a pen jabs him in the side, but then Phil grabs his shoulder again, pushing in hard, making Tony hold on to him, just to keep from losing his balance.

Tony can hardly think, but each breath is a moan, and Phil keeps at him, relentless, “Say it.”

“Yes…” He’s shuddering with every thrust, aching, so close already, and when Phil grabs his cock, slicking him in one smooth stroke, dragging his palm across the head, Tony’s breath catches in his throat, and he jerks against the sensation, it’s almost too much. 

Phil slows to an easy rhythm, drawing it out, stroking him gently and making him shudder with want, a little thrill with each thrust, the perfect sort of easy fucking that Tony loves; slow enough to coast along on like a wave, fast enough that it doesn’t make him tremble with need, doesn’t make him focus on every small sensation, but he’s already so turned on it’s just not enough; he wants to be pounded into the desk until he cries, and then fucked even harder just for good measure. He feels like nothing could ever be enough, and he loves it. 

Phil’s breath has gone thready, and he slows, each thrust deliberate now, “Do you think he would let you come?” 

Tony whimpers, “Please…”

Phil thrusts deep, squeezing Tony’s cock, “Please, what?”

“Please…” Tony’s voice breaks, and he almost whines, “Phil, please…”

“Please, who?” Phil drags his palm across head of Tony’s cock, making him whimper, pushing in deep, drawing back slow. 

Tony can hardly breathe, can hardly think, “Oh god Steve, please…”

Phil bites back a moan, breathing strained, but he keeps that excruciatingly slow rhythm, making him shudder with each stroke, “Say his name.”

“Steve…” Tony grabs Phil’s forearm, just needing something, anything to hold on to, “Steve… Fuck…” 

His orgasm hits him like a landslide, leaving him wrecked and broken in its wake, shuddering as Phil gasps, trembling with those last few strokes until he loses his breath too, doubling over, each breath almost a whine, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony basks in it, slowly coming back to himself, that slick wetness seeping from him, to feel the soreness across the back of his hips, that pen still jabbing into his ribs. 

Phil catches his breath and straightens slowly, like he’s waking from a deep sleep, and for a moment he’s almost gazing at Tony, as if for a moment there’s nothing else in the world. Phil reaches out, and strokes the line of diamonds across his throat, lips parted as if there’s something he’s almost going to say, but then he takes a deep breath, pulling himself together as he slides out, and Tony shivers to lose him. 

Phil reaches in his breast pocket, grabbing his handkerchief, but Tony shakes his head, and he still hasn’t quite caught his breath, but he manages to gesture towards his workbench, just out of reach, “Clean rags. Over there.”

Phil smiles, wipes a bit of sweat from his face, shoves his handkerchief messily back in his pocket, and Tony knows how wrecked he is just from that little bit of carelessness. Tony has seen Phil re-fold handkerchiefs in the middle of interrogations and after dabbing away blood from a split lip after a perp actually tried to kick in his teeth. Phil stretches as steps away to grab one of the rags, and Tony can see the ease in his shoulders where before there was iron-rod stiffness, the sort of tension that goes so deep, nobody notices until it’s gone. Phil cleans himself up, tosses Tony another rag, and before Tony has even managed to begin to put himself back together, Phil is straightening his tie, trying to smooth some of the wrinkles out of his trousers. 

“Wow, we really made a mess of you,” Tony laughs. Phil looks an absolute wreck, and not a bit like he’s been putting out a fire. “Hang on,” He looks around for his robot before he calls out, “Hey, Dummy!” Moments later DUM-E wheels around the corner, and gesturing in Phil’s general direction, Tony says, “The Agent is on fire.” 

The robot makes a little whirring noise, and starts closing in. Phil backs away, saying, “That’s really not necessary, I’m sure…” but Tony’s robots never listen to reason, and Phil starts coughing as he catches a sudden mouthful of acrid, powdery cloud.

“You want to lie, do it right,” Tony shrugs, glancing at the robot, “Good job, stupid. Go home.” The robot makes a happy little chirp before shuffling off back to the closet from whence it came. 

Phil gives Tony a look that can only mean death as he makes a futile attempt to dust some of the powder off his suit, and Tony bites back a laugh even as Phil realizes how hopeless his predicament is, “What is this godawful…?” 

“PKP. It’s harmless, but your dry-cleaner’s going to hate you. Hope you weren’t too fond of your suit, might be easier to just buy a new one, all told.” He glances up at the clock on the wall, “Have fun at that meeting.”


End file.
